Page 133 of The One Who Never Left: Colter

“Sutton.”

“If you came to threaten me again, don’t. Lynlee is asleep.”

He shook his head quickly. “I didn’t come to threaten you, I came to apologize.”

The word hit her like a sudden impact, stealing her breath.

He dragged both hands through his hair, breathing hard. “I was angry and blindsided. I said things meant to wound because I didn’t know what else to do with the pain.” His eyes found hers, raw and glassy. “But I do not want to hurt you and I do not want you to run.”

“I have to protect her.”

“Then let’s protect her together. That’s all I’m asking.”

Sutton shook her head, tears threatening. “You said custody. You said lawyers.”

The words went straight to her spine. That had always been her worst fear—the one she never said out loud but thought about every second of every day.

For months after Lynlee was born, Sutton had lived in a state of quiet vigilance, half-expecting a knock on the door or a certified letter that would take her daughter out of her arms and call it lawful. She’d waited for Lynlee’s other parents to come back and demand her, waited for the life she’d built to be ruled temporary.

Even now, with years behind her and a court-signed document stating Lynlee was legally hers, the fear hadn’t disappeared. It had just learned how to hide—patient and ready to come back with vengeance.

“I know. I was terrified and I thought the only power I had was force. But I don’t want a courtroom or a split schedule. I want a life and a family. I want to show up and earn a place—not demand one.”

Sutton’s face crumpled. “You are her father.”

“Not if you run.”

Something inside her gave way—anger collapsing into grief, grief collapsing into exhaustion.

He reached out but didn’t touch her. He let the space exist—her choice, her pace.

“I want to be in both of your lives, but it’s your call, Freckles. You choose what that looks like. How much space I get. How often. Whether I earn the right to love you—both of you.”

Her breath trembled. "That's not the question."

"What is?"

Her voice came out stripped of everything but honesty. "What are we now? Not what you'll allow. Not what I've earned. What are we—the three of us—on the other side of all of this?"

He looked at her for a long moment. Long enough that she felt the weight of it.

"A family," he said quietly. "If you let us figure out what that means."

It wasn't a clean answer. It wasn't a promise that nothing would be hard. It was just the truth of it—two people standing in a doorway with a little girl asleep down the hall, deciding whether the thing they'd built on complicated ground was still worth standing on.

Sutton exhaled. "I don't know how to do that."

"Neither do I," he said. "But I'd rather not know with you than know without you."

“You hurt me.”

“I know,” he said. “I hate that I did and I’m sorry.”

She pressed a fist to her shaking mouth. “I’m so scared.”

“I’m scared, too.”

A thick silence settled, the air still as if waiting for the world to realign.